


Belonging

by gonergone



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternative Universe - Kingsman Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/pseuds/gonergone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curt nominates Arthur as his candidate for the new Lancelot.  The problem is, Arthur isn't sure he's the right person for the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegirlwiththemouseyhair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/gifts).



Arthur knew the others were looking him over and finding him wanting; it had been that way his whole life, and he would never know why he had expected anything to be different in the Kingsman training. He self-consciously crossed his arms over his chest and wished Curt were there, because just having Curt in the room was enough to make him feel braver, as if Curt's inherent daring transmitted through the air. 

Sometimes, after he'd spent time around Curt and watched _everyone_ go a bit mad in his presence, he thought maybe it did.

Arthur wasn't brave, and he wasn't a gentleman, and he was beginning to suspect he'd never be accepted as a Kingsman.

That hurt a lot more than he would ever have admitted.

*

Arthur would lie awake at night, listening to the other five candidates breathing and wondering what the fuck he was doing there. Unlike the rest of them, Arthur had no home to go back to if he failed. He had no one and nothing, except for Curt, and he wasn't always sure why Curt seemed to like him, let alone why he believed in him enough to recruit him. 

When he had met Curt in that dirty pub all he had been thinking about was how to get in his pants, or at the very least, how to get Curt to stay a little longer, talk a little more. He didn't really think someone like Curt could be interested in someone like him, not when he must've had so many better options, but he desperately wanted to prove himself to Curt anyway, which was madness. He knew that. He wasn't any kind of _spy_ ; he wasn't even good at nicking a bit of food to eat, which is how he'd ended up in jail in the first place. He was useless, and the most he'd ever do as a Kingsman candidate was let Curt down. 

Arthur's first impression of the other candidates was that they were all interchangeable, properly posh Oxbridge wankers who he would cheerfully send off a bridge. It was only after that first night, the night of the water, that they started to have actual personalities. 

Jerry was the ringleader, always quick to sort out exactly how to benefit himself from any situation and walking over anyone who got in his way. His eyes were small and beady, and when his gazed fixed on Arthur it always gave him chills. 

Mandy was harder to place. She shared Jerry's selfishness, Arthur thought, and fundamental self-interest, but she could also be kind when she wanted to be, even if there was nothing in it for her.

Cooper and Cecil _were_ interchangeable, even after a week. Even after three weeks their identical brown hair and posh accents blurred together in Arthur's mind. 

Shannon was the exception. The only exception. The only person who Arthur thought might be a friend. She was shy and quiet, though Arthur suspected she was much cleverer than she let on. Even when it was just the two of them and no one was making fun of him, Arthur never forgot that it was a competition; that only one of them could get in. It was his one shot to belong somewhere, finally, and he certainly wasn't going to let friendship get in the way of that, no matter how much he liked Shannon. He liked Curt _more_.

*

Curt shoved opened the doors and strolled into a large room that Arthur hadn't seen before. 

Arthur looked at the portraits lining the walls. "These were all Kingsmen?"

Curt nodded. "Yeah., founders, a hundred years ago. You should get Brian to tell you the whole story some time. He loves that shit." He pointed with an unlit cigarette. "One of my predecessors."

Arthur swallowed. "Charlie Chaplin was a Galahad? Seriously?"

Curt shrugged indifferently. "That's what they tell me." 

Arthur eyed the rest of the portraits. "Which of them were Lancelots?"

Curt had to think for a moment. "Harry Houdini, I think. Kinda a lot for you to try to live up to, if you ask me."

"For someone, yeah," Arthur agreed. "It probably won't be me, though."

"Not you, huh? I thought you were probably having a hard time," Curt stated, and Arthur supposed it was pretty obvious, even though he hadn't thought Curt had been paying attention.

"I don't fit in very much," Arthur admitted. 

Curt took a long drag on his cigarette. "I don't fit in, either. Never have. I spent a lot of my time as a trainee up on the roof, just to get away from everyone else."

"Was training this hard for you, too?" Arthur asked. Somehow, he couldn't imagine that.

Curt snorted. "Unlike you, I really didn't give a shit about any of it, or any of them, so it wasn't _hard_ in the same way."

"If you don't care about actually being a Kingsman, then why bother doing it?" Arthur asked, gobsmacked. It wasn't as if any of it had been easy.

"Brian," Curt shrugged. "I came for Brian, because he asked me to. In the beginning that was all that mattered." He shrugged. "Brian and I just _got_ each other then, in a way that I felt like no one had ever got me before. He mattered, and he made me feel like I mattered, too. That was when I would've done anything to be close to him, anything at all." He mashed out his cigarette hard, nearly turning over the ashtray. "Like I said, it was a long time ago."

"Brian recruited you?" Arthur hadn't expected that. The one time he'd seen them in the same room together they'd been distinctly chilly to each other. 

"Yeah. He knew all about me, and when a spot opened up he really pushed me toward it. Nobody else wanted me around, and they let me know it, too. Brian didn't care. He thought he saw something in me. I still don't know what. I think he expected me to be better than I actually am. That's the problem with Brian: he only ever sees what he wants to see. If you asked him _now_ , he'd cheerfully get rid of me." Curt rooted around in his pocket until he came up with a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He shook another one out and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. "It's funny, because I'm actually pretty good at it. Not _all_ of it, obviously – I couldn't be a gentleman if my fucking life depended on it – but that part was always bullshit, I think. I'm good at enough of it. I'm good at the ass kicking and the sneaking around. Fuck the rest."

Arthur snorted. It was all very well for Curt to talk about ignoring conventions and expectations – he had made it already. Not just into the Kingsmen, but as one of their most distinguished members. Curt could bloody well do whatever he wanted because he'd already proven himself time and again in the field; Arthur didn't have that luxury, and doubted he ever would. He could never be Curt, no matter how hard he tried. That wasn't going to stop him from trying, but it was good to remember it when he failed. 

Arthur picked at the skin at the edge of one of his fingernails and glanced again at the portraits again, considering despite himself. The allure of the unbroken history of the order was impossible to ignore, even if he didn't think he fit anywhere in it.

*

The jump from the plane had been easier than he'd expected. Arthur should've know there would be some sort of horrible twist to it all, right when he had been doing _well_. 

He couldn't stop staring at the ground as it rushed up toward him, even as he clung on to Shannon. He dimly knew that he was screaming, but it was impossible to think about anything other than the fact that he was going to fall and it was going to be messy. He hoped he was going to fall hard enough to actually die on impact, rather than just sustaining internal injuries until he choked to death on his own blood.

Either way, he knew he was going to die, and for the first time he didn't want to. For the first time, he had something to live for.

*

That night, Arthur climbed up to the roof.

He lay back, staring up at the stars and trying to wrap his head around the fact that there were only three candidates left; that somehow, against all odds, he'd managed to stay in the competition. The idea that he might actually have a shot of succeeding was terrifying. 

He had been there for an hour when he heard footsteps crunching through the gravel toward him. At first he thought it was probably Shannon, but when Curt stepped out of the darkness his heart gave a betraying lurch. Curt stopped and loomed over him, bending his head to half-smile down at Arthur. 

"I thought you might be up here. Merlin told me about what happened today."

Arthur nodded, turning away. 

"You don't have to talk about it," Curt told him. "I get not wanting to." He sat cross legged by Arthur's head, leaning back on his hands and following Arthur's gaze to the sky. 

Arthur closed his eyes. It was easier to talk to Arthur if he didn't have to look at him. "I really thought I didn't get a parachute. I really thought I was expendable." He stopped himself before he said anything more, a sob lodged deep in his throat trying to get out. 

He could feel Curt watching him and tried to school his features into something tougher than he was actually feeling. 

He was surprised when Curt's knuckles rapped against his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Arthur blinked up at him. "Where are we going?"

Curt smirked at him. "Does it matter?"

Arthur couldn't help but smile back. "No," he said, because as long as he was with Curt, it really, really didn't.

*

Curt drove more or less how Arthur had expected him to: fast and dangerously and ignoring all traffic regulations. When they stopped, Arthur looked around, confused. He'd thought they were headed to the tailor shop, but they were in a quiet mews lined with dark houses. 

"Where are we?" he asked, stepping out of the car and following Curt up one of the walks.

"My place."

"Your place?" Arthur repeated, dumbfounded. 

"I don't live at headquarters, you know," Curt told him, annoyed. He unlocked the door carefully, and Arthur suspected there was additional security that he couldn't see. 

"It's just hard to imagine you having a flat like a normal person."

"I _am_ a normal person, at least sometimes. It's the job of any Kingsmen agent to blend into the general population flawlessly."

Arthur privately thought that Curt was never going to be the sort of person who could blend in with the general population, but the last thing he wanted to do was start a row with Curt when Curt was finally showing Arthur something of himself that wasn't work. It was, in his considered opinion, progress. Even if Curt was only doing it because he felt sorry for Arthur, Arthur would take what he could get.

He examined the framed paintings in the entryway as Curt turned lights on. They were abstract, mostly white space, with a dash of grey. Arthur wrinkled his nose without meaning to.

"Brian's doing," Curt muttered, shaking his head. "I have him over once and he's got the whole place redecorated the next day. Thinks I have no sense of style."

Arthur felt a surge of jealousy at the mention of Brian being there, even though he knew it was ridiculous. He followed Curt into the cluttered sitting room, and that did look like Curt – papers and random things strewn over the couch and coffee table, full ashtrays and dirty coffee mugs everywhere. 

Curt pulled out a small tablet and handed it to Arthur. "Keep an eye on that. You're not supposed to be off the reservation at this point in your training, so Brian might send someone after you. He can't stand it when someone else breaks the rules." Curt thought about it for a second. "He can't stand it when someone else breaks the rules _now_. He's changed a lot, Brian has, now that he's at the top. I guess that's what happens."

"What will they do to me?" Arthur asked, handling the tablet gingerly.

"You? Nothing. I'll be the one in trouble." Curt shrugged, unconcerned, and started fixing himself a drink from the bottles spread on the counter. 

Arthur cleared a space for himself on the couch, pushing aside old music magazines and what looked like the remnants of a potted plant. 

"Do you want something?" Curt asked.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

Curt set a glass down in front of Arthur anyway, shoving some clothes onto the floor to sit down beside him. "I brought you here to relax, so relax."

"You think I need to relax?" Arthur picked up the glass and sipped it carefully, the alcohol burning down his throat. 

Curt snorted. "You're tying yourself up in knots over this – which I understand – but it's not the end of the world if you fail, you know." 

"It is," Arthur said simply. "I don't have anywhere else to go. If I get kicked out, I'm back to begging Jack Fairy to let me sleep on his floor and begging for food money."

"Bullshit. You think I'd just let you end up on the street?" Curt looked incredulous, and, Arthur thought, a little hurt. "You'll come here." 

Arthur looked up at him, wide eyed. 

"Brian won't like it, a failed candidate and an agent carrying on," Curt went on, "but he won't stop it from happening." 

Arthur wanted to ask him exactly what he meant by 'carrying on,' but he wasn't sure how to phrase it in a way that didn't tell Curt everything he was hoping… if Curt didn't know already.

Curt ran a hand through his hair, mussing it into blond fuzz. "Just don't put so much pressure on yourself. I've seen you: you take it all in until you're ready to explode, and that's not healthy." He chuckled. "And you know that when _I'm_ lecturing you about being more healthy, you're really totally fucked."

"I feel like this pep talk may leave something to be desired," Arthur deadpanned, downing the rest of his drink in one go.

"Right," Curt agreed, draining his glass and adding it to the detritus on the table where it balanced precariously. "I've never been much for the high road." He touched Arthur's chin gently, moving his fingers slowly to his cheek. 

Arthur swallowed, frozen. He was so hopeful he could barely think straight, and that's when Curt kissed him. 

He tasted like spice and whiskey, and he was easily the best kisser Arthur had ever been with. When the kiss broke, Curt's fingers slipped into Arthur's hair and held his close as he nipped at Arthur's bottom lip. Finally he let Arthur go.

"Oh," Arthur breathed, settling back into the couch. 

Curt licked his lips and watched Arthur closely. "No matter what happens, you'll be okay. I need you to trust me on that," he told him. "I need you to trust me," he repeated. "I know that's probably asking a lot, considering."

"Considering?"

"I know I don't seem like the most trustworthy person. I do lie for a living, after all." Curt smiled. "Think about everything you have to look forward to."

Arthur took a deep breath, turning his empty glass over and over in his hands. "You think I really have a shot at this?"

"Of course I do. I wouldn't have brought you in as a candidate just to watch you fail." 

"I know."

"Do you?" Curt was studying him. "Because you seem pretty defeatist, and I'd really appreciate it if you cut that shit out." He pressed another light kiss to Arthur's mouth. 

"If I do get in, will we…" Arthur wasn't entirely sure how to ask. "…date?"

Curt chuckled. "I'd like to think we can do that either way, but if you need the extra motivation, then you can tell yourself whatever you want." 

Arthur thought he might need the extra motivation, actually, the way he felt about it.

Curt touched his cheek lightly, then sighed. "I should get you back to headquarters. Just, think on what I've said, yeah? No matter what, everything's going to be fine, so stop worrying so much."

Arthur didn't want to go back at all, but the future that Curt was hinting at was enough to strengthen his resolve. And Curt was right: no matter what, everything was going to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I know you're not into too much fluff, but I think this is only really fluffy if you ignore what happens to Galahad later in the movie. Sorry, hon.


End file.
